


Celestial Motion Picture Java

by arsons



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Humor, M/M, Unreliable Narrator, ouma says... So many unfortunate things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-09-28 07:42:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17178710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arsons/pseuds/arsons
Summary: Ouma finds himself in desperate need of a coffee, one day. And the day after that....And the day after that. Not for any particular reason, though. Certainly not.





	Celestial Motion Picture Java

**Author's Note:**

  * For [no6](https://archiveofourown.org/users/no6/gifts).



> oumota is such a deep, complex pairing, i say, days before writing...This. happy christmas/birthday, kat. enjoy your puns.

The thing about Starbucks was that Kokichi really, truly, fully, absolutely did not understand it. Or, coffee in general—what the hell even was it? Bean water? Bean water that people went and added all kinds of crazy flavors and toppings to just so they could forget the true, bean water base? Absolutely not. Kokichi was a fan of tomfoolery, yes, all kinds, but he drew the line at bean water. That was not even tomfoolery. That was pure, unadulterated malice. That was like deciding to drink water, then scooping a handful of dirt into the mug and putting sprinkles on top. And, God, don’t even get him started on _tea_ —

Who, in their right damn mind, Kokichi wondered, would ever want to put plant juice in their body? Not him; no sir. That was disgusting and unnatural. He would stick to the potassium sorbate, sodium benzoate, red 40, and blue 1, thank you very much.

Regardless of his thoughts and opinions, Kokichi did find himself desperately needing a coffee one day. A large, intricate and expensive one, with loads and loads of toppings. Oh, and it had to be hot. Preferably scalding. That would be for the best. So, despite never having set foot in one in his life, at 6:24 PM on a Tuesday, Kokichi walked into the smallest, shittiest, ugliest, rundown looking Starbucks he’d ever seen.

Well, that was probably for the best as well. Some rusty bell jingled when he opened the door, and not a single person turned to acknowledge him; it was going fantastic already. Some middle aged woman was asleep on a corner table, knocked the fuck out. Probably because her deadbeat husband refused to help with any housework and allowed the 4 children they accidentally had to destroy the home, Kokichi figured. Some students were sat at the bar on laptops, preoccupied by music or homework or porn, or whatever normal, boring high school kids were preoccupied by nowadays. Kokichi took a deep breath to let the boring, apathetic air fill his lungs, then strode directly up to the counter.

Or, almost. The set up was a little funny. He stared at the _ENTER HERE_ sign for 30 seconds, right next to an entrance blocked by a rope barrier, before he realized that it opened on the other side. Oh, right. Okay, well, that should’ve been advertised better.

The lone barista behind the counter had, apparently, not cared too much to help Kokichi out of his predicament—or, well, hadn’t acknowledged it. He was busy propped up against the counter, his phone held in front of him, texting hastily away. Well, Kokichi wasn’t about to have that. He cleared his throat loudly, once, then once more. When he—airily, just gingerly—said, “Ah, jeez, it sure would be _nice_ if a boy could get a _coffee_ around here,” the barista finally turned to look at him.

_Oh_ , Kokichi thought. Oh, well. _That_ was a surprise. He hadn’t realized Starbucks employees were so…tall.

“Hey,” the barista said, heading over towards him. “How’re—uh,” he stopped, glancing down at Kokichi’s outfit. “Are you dressed like that for a reason?”

For a moment, Kokichi hadn’t even realized that the guy had asked him a question; he was busy observing his surroundings, as he always did when he entered a new place for the first time. And, completely by chance, the barista had just managed to stand directly in front of him when he’d decided to do so. He must’ve been—what, at least a foot taller than Kokichi?—and had some stupid, ugly hairstyle. Matched with some stupid, ugly goatee. And some stupid, ugly, tan, unusually muscular…arms…

“Dude, are you feeling okay?” the barista— _Momota_ , his nametag said—asked. He glanced behind himself nervously. “I could grab you a water or something, if you need one…”

“Huh?” Kokichi asked, finally snapping out of his deep, complex, and necessary musings. “Oh, no, I don’t need a water!” he said, rearranging himself _casually_ to lean over the counter, braced by his elbows. _Momota_ turned back to look at him. “What I need,” Kokichi started, pausing to let the anticipation build, “is a coffee.”

Momota just blinked at him. “Uh, okay,” he said, pulling a marker out of his apron. “What kind?”

Kokichi hadn’t thought ahead that much. He stood up straight to look at the menu. “Well, I don’t know. I didn’t think I’d get this far.”

Momota snorted. Kokichi looked back at him, pleased, to see that Momota had apparently found his joke funny. Which it was, of course. A joke.

“Um,” Kokichi continued, trying to read the different names and categories written in chalk above them. What in the shit was a Caffé Misto? “Do you guys make, like, hot drinks?” he asked.

“Do we make _hot drinks?_ ” Momota repeated, as if he hadn’t heard Kokichi the first time.

“Yeah, hot drinks,” Kokichi clarified, just to be safe.

Momota was quiet for a few seconds. “Yeah, we make hot drinks.”

“Oh, good!” Kokichi smiled, wiping some imaginary sweat off his brow. “You had me worried for a minute, there! Anyways, that’s what I want, then. A hot drink. And make it a big one!”

When Momota failed to move from his spot, Kokichi tacked on a, “Please, could you?”

Momota’s face, weirdly enough, twisted into some sort of sly smile. He glanced at his watch, then behind him, then back to Kokichi. Whatever that expression was, it suited him, Kokichi thought for the half a second before he realized he shouldn’t. “Listen, man,” Momota started, resting his own elbow on the counter, “I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say you’ve never been to a Starbucks before, have you?”

“Oh, I have,” Kokichi said, his face gone entirely blank. “I’ll have a grande Mocha Frappuccino with extra whipped cream on top.”

Momota appeared to be taken aback. “Oh,” he said after a moment, then reached for a plastic cup next to him. “Shit, then, my bad—“

“Juuuust kidding!” Kokichi cried, striking a pose for added emphasis. Momota froze and turned back to him, looking bewildered. “I don’t know what the hell any of that means! So, no, don’t make that. Umm, you know what I want? Something just super-duper crazy. Let’s do something like that! Oh, and it has to be hot.”

Momota was blinking, a little too quickly. He had stupid, ugly eyelashes, too. “So, you haven’t been here before,” he said.

Kokichi smiled and put a finger to his lips. “Who knooows,” he answered, glancing back towards the menu. Apparently, he’d pronounced the word Frappuccino correctly. “I certainly don’t. But, just because I feel like it, I think I could use some help. Like, encouragement, or something. Hey, what do you think is the weirdest, hottest drink in this hellhole?”

For a second, Kokichi was certain the hellhole comment had _offended_ the guy—God _forbid_ ; it was an honest description—but then Momota started laughing. Genuinely, earnestly laughing, as if he thought Kokichi were cute or something. Kokichi’s ears started burning— _cute_ , of course, why would his mind fill in the word _cute_ —

“Are you on drugs or something?” Momota asked, his eyes still crinkled in amusement. “It’s, like, the middle of a weekday evening, and you show up looking ready to rob the place. Plus, you’re talking a whole lot of shit. This is a new one for me.”

“Um, I’m _not_ on _drugs_ , that’s for sure,” Kokichi answered forcefully. Why the hell would he be on drugs? He was a good, pure boy with good, pure intentions. In fact, how dare this little _Momota_ character even accuse him of—

“Hey, I’m just fucking with you!” Momota said, still laughing the smallest bit at him. “God, your face, man—“

And then Kokichi was bawling his eyes out, screaming into the quiet, boring void of the building. “WAAAAAHHHH!!!”

“H-Holy shit! Calm down, I didn’t mean—!”

“I know,” Kokichi said, simmering down instantly. That lazy old mom had finally jolted awake at the table she was strewn across, but the kids at the bar had no reaction. That was what happened when you were too busy with porn, Kokichi figured.

Momota looked like his fight or flight instincts were kicking in. Then, he swallowed hard and crossed his arms. _Ooh_ , Kokichi thought. _A fighter_. This ought to be good.

“Are you some kind of clown or something?” Momota asked, probably trying his damn best not to look alarmed or nervous anymore. Guys like this, Kokichi was already profiling, usually hated anything to do with vulnerability.

“Are you always this comfortable with strangers?” Kokichi asked, tilting his head to the side. Not to be cute or anything. Definitely not. “But what gave it away?”

“Well, you’re pulling all these random bullshit stunts. Either you’re a clown, or you’re just one of those guys who hates showing his true emotions so no one can get close to you.” Momota did a onceover of Kokichi’s all-black ensemble for the hundredth time since he walked in. “Or you’re a burglar. One of the three.”

Kokichi, suddenly, was _pissed_. How dare some very-ugly-and-not-handsome-in-the-slightest barista assume he couldn’t be all three at once!?

“Did I strike a nerve?” Ugly barista asked, awkwardly rubbing at the back of his neck. “I mean, that’s just the vibe I got from you. I didn’t think I’d hurt your feelings.”

How dare some very-ugly-and-maybe-handsome-at-the-right-angle barista assume he had _feelings!?_

Kokichi puffed his cheeks out. No, he wasn’t going to take more of this. He had plans—dire and important plans that did not include being psychoanalyzed by some 5.7/10 he didn’t know. “Are you gonna make me that coffee or not?” he asked.

5.7 raised his eyebrows. “Damn, I will. I’m going.” He reached out for a plastic cup, then retracted his hand once more. “Uh, do you still want a grande?”

“Is that the big one?” Kokichi asked, tapping his fingers along the counter.

6.4 laughed, lightly. “The biggest you can get is a venti. You want that?”

“Yeah, Momota-chan!” Kokichi cheered, clapping his hands together. Momota looked surprised at the use of his name. “I’m so glad you’ve decided to listen to me, now! I’ll take a venti, um… A venti something-hot!”

Momota was laughing openly now, writing something on the plastic cup he was holding. “ _Momota-chan_ , God. That’s…huh. Well, I’m recommending a cappuccino. That’s simple enough, so you can do whatever ‘super-duper’ crazy shit to it that you want.” Somewhere, Kokichi’s brain was processing that any boring, teenage barista working at Starbucks shouldn’t be swearing so much at customers, but it was overridden by a bigger part of his brain still interested in Momota’s arms. And smile. For research purposes, obviously. Momota’s gaze shifted to him, and he started. “What’s your name?”

Kokichi laughed nervously, unsure of where this was going. “Um, why do you have to know? It’s not my fault you decided to wear a nametag and put us on uneven ground!” Was Momota going to call the cops on him? That stupid, ugly, goatee-wearing bastard—!

The corner of Momota’s mouth quirked. “For your drink.”

“You’re gonna name the drink after me?” Kokichi asked.

“What!? No, it’s to take your damn order!”

“Oh! Why didn’t you just say so, Momota-chan? Jeeeez, can’t have you slipping up like that all the time!”

Momota looked exasperated. Much like every other expression he had, this one was becoming on him, too. “I am so fucking bored,” he said, looking directly at the ceiling. “I have to be bored. There’s no other way I would be putting up with this shit.”

Kokichi smiled, still not answering the question.

“Ten seconds,” Momota said, “and I fill this drink out for _Thief Bastard_.”

Kokichi waited, determined, and stared at Momota silently. If he wanted a power move, he would get a power move.

Momota’s face grew slightly red, probably from the fucked up ventilation, or maybe the sheer exertion of holding Kokichi’s eye contact for so long, and then he penned the exact name he said he would on the cup. Kokichi watched until it was written out entirely, then said, “It’s Ouma.”

“Well, _Ouma_ ,” Momota said, slipping his marker back into his apron pocket, “you’re Thief Bastard for tonight. What do you want in this thing?”

Kokichi hummed, pretending to think hard about the question. “Ah, well… I don’t know! What sort of options does a Starbucks even have to fuck a drink up? I’d love to try them out!”

Momota glanced at his watch, then smiled back at Kokichi in a way that did not make him feel like he’d swallowed firecrackers, or anything like that. Not at all. “If you have the time,” Momota said, “I do too.”

Fifteen minutes later, Thief Bastard was the proud owner of a venti cappuccino with 4 shots of espresso, 5 pumps of caramel syrup, 6 of raspberry, 4 of vanilla, 3 of toffee nut, and 1 of peppermint with extra sugar, whipped cream, and almond milk, drizzled with caramel sauce, chocolate powder, and salt topping. Oh, and it was extra hot.

“Good fucking luck,” Momota said, handing the drink over after Kokichi had emptied his wallet on the counter. “I know that’ll taste awful.”

“Oh, it’s not for tasting!” Kokichi said, taking the abomination enthusiastically. “I’m going to throw it in somebody’s face.”

Momota recoiled. “What!?”

“Thanks!” Kokichi called, skipping back to the shitty old door with the shitty old bell. As it rang on the handle, and he took off into the cold, winter evening, Momota’s voice carried out from behind him, “Don’t fucking burn someone with that, you little brat!”

-

6:02 PM that Thursday found Kokichi at the door of, conveniently enough, the same Starbucks he’d been in days prior. Just because he happened to be there, accidentally, after riding the bus for a stop too long. On accident. The maps were getting a bit tricky, recently.

When Momota spotted him in line, waiting patiently behind the, _ugh_ , two _old_ people who’d arrived before him, his face lit up in recognition. Kokichi rocked back and forth on his heels when Momota said something to the other barista, then took her spot at the counter to write orders. Probably, he was due to switch out, or something. That made sense. Despite that, he was smiling when Kokichi finally faced him from the other side of the granite.

“Hey, fucker!” Momota greeted, looking irrationally excited to see him, especially considering their parting words the last time they spoke. “How’d your immolation attempt go?”

“It went well,” Kokichi shrugged, ready to leave it at that, but Momota was still smiling like an idiot. How odd. “Jeez, Momota-chan, you must really like third degree burns.”

“No,” Momota said, amused, pulling his sharpie back out from his apron. “Why, did the guy leave with third degree burns? That shit can fucking hurt people!”

By _shit_ , Kokichi was assuming Momota meant coffee. Was that the fascination with bean water, then? People liked to live on the edge and risk burning themselves every day? Weird way to get your kicks, Kokichi thought, but. He couldn’t blame them, if that were the case. Old people needed to get adrenaline _some_ way.

“Oh? Does coffee hurt that much? I’d never—“

“No, I meant getting burned,” Momota said, as if it weren’t the stupidest fucking thing in the world to ever say.

_So he’s dumb_ , Kokichi thought. Perhaps…even _that_ was for the best.

“…used it as a weapon before,” Kokichi finished, then thought. “He did say something like, _‘My face, my face!’_ when I threw it on him, though. Anyway, I would’ve told you yesterday, but you weren’t here!”

Momota’s eyebrows went up. “I was, actually. What are you trying to pull?” Then, actually looking thoughtful, he said, “Did you come in looking for me?”

Kokichi snorted. “No, of course I didn’t!”

_Momota takes breaks at 4:45 on Wednesdays_ , Kokichi filed away. Then, casually twisting a strand of hair around a finger, he said, “Whatever, though! I’m here for an actual coffee today, so you need to make me one!”

Momota smiled and glanced around. He did that a lot; perhaps _he_ needed to be aware of his surroundings, too. “You don’t seem like the kind of guy who needs more energy,” he said, as if it were any of his business.

“Excuse you!” Kokichi cried, leaning back dramatically with an arm thrown across his face. “I’m dying from caffeine deficiency, here and now, and you’re just going to laugh at me? How dare you! Hey, where’s your manager? I have some words for them!”

That ugly dinosaur who’d had the audacity to be in line before him looked over at Kokichi, distastefully. It wasn’t _his_ fault he just wanted to try the taste for once, and it certainly wasn’t his fault that old fucks were obsessed with getting adrenaline highs from touching hot things! Kokichi stuck his tongue out at the guy, and Momota laughed from behind the counter. On a fully unrelated note, Kokichi felt his face go warm. Better order before he came down with a fever and _died_ , probably.

“A-Anyway,” Kokichi began, then cleared his throat. Yep, definitely the flu. Hot drinks were supposed to help that, though, so it was a good thing he’d made it in the first place. “I don’t care about energy, just flavor. I don’t think anyone would be drinking bean water if they couldn’t make it taste slightly better!”

Momota pulled a face at him. “The hell did you say? _Bean_ water?”

If Momota hadn’t looked so horribly charming when he was confused, Kokichi might have scoffed at him. The problem was that he _did_ , though, so Kokichi just rolled his eyes instead. Curse dumb idiots for looking nice. “Yeah, _duh_. Bean water. Shouldn’t Starbucks workers know that their product is just water with beans? It’s practically dirt juice!”

Before Kokichi could demand to see Momota’s credentials, the boy smiled again and peered over the counter. Kokichi jumped back, flustered.

“Well, you don’t look like you’re trying to rob me today, so,” Momota said, looking at Kokichi’s white, buttoned shirt, then back up at him. Even worse, Kokichi could feel himself starting to get _heart palpitations_. This was no flu; he was probably going into cardiac arrest right then and there, and he had 30 seconds or under to live. Then Momota finished, “I’ll let it slide that you’re telling old, overused Internet jokes.”

Kokichi was _floored_. “Huh!?” he sputtered, astounded at the accusation. Him, using _Internet_ jokes? Who the hell did Momota think he was? Of course some goatee-wearing bastard who had to point out that getting burnt was painful would think such a thing! “Um, Momota-chan, who the hell do you think I am!? _Internet_ jokes? You said yourself that I’m a clown—“

“And a burglar, and emotionally fucked—“

“So you should know that all my jokes are fresh and organic! Unlike yours, which are stale and canned and tainted by dirt juice. And your own idiocy! Jeez, Starbucks really does make people more stupid. Better leave now before you’re nothing but mush!”

Instead of responding, Momota just laughed and grabbed a plastic cup from a stack lined up on the counter. He did a lot of that too, actually. Laughing. Kokichi almost wanted to punch him for it: using his voice against him, specifically, as a weapon? That was low. “I’m gonna make you something sweet,” he said, spelling out _OUMA_ on the cup he was holding. Ah, so he did remember his name. “You seem like the kind of guy to survive off of energy drinks alone.”

“And you,” Kokichi said, pointing at him, “seem like the kind of guy to think shitty facial hair is sexy!”

Momota’s hand suspended in the middle of writing his name out, and he turned to Kokichi, stunned. “What the fuck? The hell is that supposed to mean!?”

“You know exactly what it means!” Kokichi cried, punctuating the statement by waving his arms. If Momota was going to play dirty, then Kokichi could do the same! And better!

“M-My goatee isn’t shitty! It makes me look like a celebrity!”

“Oh?” Kokichi asked, putting his hands on his hips. “And who told you that? Your grandma?”

Judging by Momota’s demolished expression, Kokichi guessed that he’d hit the nail directly on the head. The marker nearly dropped out of his hand.

“Y-You…”

“Well, so what?” Kokichi concluded, a bit hurriedly, his hands now resting behind his head. He’d kicked Momota down enough for the day, probably. “It’s offset by your arms, or whatever, so. Don’t worry.”

Momota blinked at him, probably trying to regain control of his body after being so brutally paralyzed like he was. “My…arms?”

“Yeah,” Kokichi said, swallowing hard when Momota looked down at himself in confusion. It appeared his fever was returning, after all. Well, he couldn’t let _that_ get the best of him! “Maybe you should mix drinks without your shirt to show off your big muscles!” _Or without your pants to show off your big—_

“Holy shit!” Momota cried, setting a hand on Kokichi’s shoulder. “Are you okay!? What the fuck hap—“

“I’M FINE!” Kokichi called between his hysterical coughing, his face directly down on the counter. “I-I’m t-totally fine, M-Momota-chan! Let go!” Though his words were muffled by the granite, Momota complied and released his hold on Kokichi’s shoulder; that was necessary, definitely. Kokichi’s entire body felt like it’d been whipped directly into an active volcano. The flu season this year was _out of control_. Perhaps he truly did have only moments to live, if he were having such spontaneous outbreaks of flushed skin and dry throat. He had to make sure Momota didn’t catch whatever he had.

“A- _ny_ -ways,” Kokichi hissed, lifting his burning face up off the counter. Maybe he was far too late, since Momota had already touched him; _his_ face was managing to look red as well. “How about…that drink, you were making…”

“Oh!” Momota said, looking relieved to have something to jump back into. He scrambled to pick up the discarded cup once more. “Uh, sure fucking thing. Just hold on for a bit…”

The old people, now heading past with their drinks in hand, shot Kokichi a dubious look. He was tempted to chew them out for being _rude_ or whatever, but he was still choked up the tiniest bit. He couldn’t find it in him to yell at that moment. Momota was doing something to his drink with his back turned to him, and after some moments, Kokichi finally managed to clear his throat enough to call over.

“So, what is it that you do, exactly? Are you a full time slave to the corporate chain, or?”

Momota let out a stiff laugh and glanced over at Kokichi. The other working barista, a long-haired girl with glasses, looked at them. Kokichi made a face at her, and she carried on. Nobody knew how to mind their own business anymore. “Actually,” Momota said, heading back towards the counter to grab something, “I intern at JAXA.”

Kokichi blinked, inspecting Momota’s concentrated face. Well, that was odd. Something was not adding up between that comment and the burn one. “You know,” Kokichi started, his wide eyes following Momota’s movements, “normally when someone lies, they start sweating, or moving their eyes, or scratching their head or something. You’re not doing anything like that, though!”

Momota stopped mixing his drink to look up at Kokichi. “Why would I be lying?”

Kokichi huffed. “Say something an astronaut would say, then!”

Momota paused for a moment, thoughtful. Then, he said, “Боже, ты забавный, хм?”

“Ugh,” Kokichi said, screwing his face up. “I said astronaut, not cosmonaut. Who are you, Yuri Gagarin?”

Momota shrugged, a smile on his face, and poured whatever drink he’d made into Kokichi’s cup. It was distinctly pink and had some sort of solid particles mixed into it. Before he slid it over the counter, Kokichi smirked at him. “I get it, then. _That’s_ why you work at _Star_ bucks.”

“Holy shit,” Momota said, drawn out and exasperated. Despite his tone, his face still managed to appear somewhat amused. “You never quit, do you?”

“Mh,” Kokichi offered, lifting his drink to inspect it. What the hell had Momota made? Was this what a Caffé Misto looked like? “No, but I think that’s a good thing. Or so I’m told,” he punctuated with a wink. When Momota just watched him, he added, “By my grandma, at least.”

Momota’s face went red. God, he really _was_ getting the flu, too. “Fucking hell, man.”

“Well!” Kokichi piped up, reaching to pull out his wallet. “I better get going, then. Have some ugly, pink drink to attend to. But, Momota-chan… If you care about all that star crap, then do you care about astrology?”

Momota snorted, ringing his order out. “No, not really. Why, do you?”

“Oh, no!” Kokichi said, waving his hand. “I hate astrology. I’ve never cared for the zodiac in my life. Anyway, you look like a fire sign. Are you a fire sign? Oh, that’s it! Momota-chan is an Aries, isn’t he?”

Momota looked alarmed. “I am, actually. What the fuck? I thought you just said—“

“Well, I’m a Cancer!” Kokichi said, lifting his scary-looking drink to take a sip. It was cold, fruity, and decidedly not awful. So bean water truly could be tasteful, if you removed the bean aspect!

Momota let out a laugh at Kokichi’s surprised face and crossed his arms, which Kokichi watched with interest. Again, as always, for research purposes. He’d already targeted Momota’s insecurity about a mental issue earlier; you never know when you’d need to target a physical one. “You like it, then?”

Kokichi swished it around in his mouth, then swallowed. “Tastes like I’m chewing bugs,” he offered, and Momota cringed.

“Fuck, dude, thanks for the mental image—“

“No problem!” Kokichi interrupted, pushing his wallet back into his pocket with speed. It seemed like over time, his illness had just gotten worse and worse; it was probably for the sake of his survival that he went home and laid down as soon as possible. “I gotta take off for real, though. But look for Cancer in the stars tonight, comrade!” he advised, tapping his free hand to his chin. “Maybe you’ll think of me.”

“I doubt it,” Momota responded, but the corners of his mouth were twitching up anyway.

As Kokichi made his way to the door, he saw the other barista approach Momota from her spot behind the counter. “Ah, Momota-kun!” she said, sounding delighted. “I see you finally took my marketing advice to heart!”

“What!?” Kokichi heard Momota choke, sound horribly embarrassed. “N-No, you got the wrong idea! Th-That wasn’t what…!”

As the bell rang behind him, Kokichi decided to head to the doctor’s and get his flu shot. He’d suggest taking similar precautions to Momota the next time he saw him.

-

When Kokichi walked into the same Starbucks for the fourth day in a row, it was busier than he’d ever seen it. Did people truly go out of their way to visit some stupid, ugly coffee place? As if he’d ever sink to a level like that! Busy or not busy, though, he was prepared to wait in line for however long was necessary. Because he was _thirsty_ , of course, and _not_ because there was some tall, astronaut barista working the counter.

Definitely not.

…Maybe not.

Besides Momota and the girl from yesterday, there were two other baristas running around behind the counter. The line was several people back, which seemed odd as hell for a Friday evening. So normie idiots couldn’t show up on weekdays, but as soon as the date flipped to Friday, night coffee was acceptable? Maybe it was the culture Kokichi hated the most. As if people needed their dirt juice to be _likable_. Ugh.

When Kokichi finally was at the front of the line, Momota was busy _doing his job_ or some shit, which was annoying. Barista girl made her way over to take his order, but surprisingly, she blinked a few times at him from behind her glasses and said nothing. Kokichi didn’t say anything back; he had no fucking clue what was happening as she pointed at him.

“Momota-kun!” she called, still not moving her eyes from Kokichi, who jumped about a foot in the air. Had she been eavesdropping on their conversation the day before? Wasn’t she the one trying to get Momota to market him some shit, or something like that? No way; he was not the hell about to deal with _that_ , and then she finished, “Your clown friend is here!”

Momota was standing at a running blender, but once Glasses had finished her statement, it stopped promptly. As did Kokichi’s heart. And to think he’d imagined the experience of cardiac arrest _yesterday_.

The girls who’d gotten in line behind him were giggling, and Kokichi was busy calling them sad, nosy cumshots when Momota approached the other side of the counter, redder than usual. Kokichi turned to face him just as he hissed, “What’s up?”

Kokichi blinked at his appearance; Glasses was taking the spot at the blender he’d been at seconds prior. She threw Kokichi a look over her shoulder, then _winked_ at him. What on fucking _earth_.

Kokichi shook his head to clear whatever the fuck _that_ was, then looked back at Momota, who was still leant against the counter, watching him. The girls behind him be damned; he was going to order a drink on his own time.

“Clown friend? Were you _talking_ about me?” Kokichi giggled, raising an eyebrow at Momota, who, miraculously, managed to turn an even brighter shade of red. Before he could answer, Kokichi continued, “Ah, Momota-chan! You look less fantastic than usual. Maybe you should visit a doctor.” Right, that was a decent shot at his pride. He’d love to see Momota recover from that one.

“Less decent than usual?” Momota repeated, then squinted his eyes at Kokichi. “You think I look decent _most_ of the time?”

Fuck; okay then! Momota 1, Kokichi 0. For Friday evening, at least. For _now._

“Y-You’re reading between the lines, Momota-chan!” Kokichi spluttered, trying to make some sort of recovery on that one before he could flop entirely. “You just want me to think you’re cute, don’t you?”

Momota grinned, and then he glanced at the line that’d built behind Kokichi. Truly, a line? In a place like this? These patrons were being incredibly inconsiderate to him. “Ouma,” he laughed, “I’d fuck around any other day, but you came at a pretty shitty time…”

Incredibly inconsiderate, yeah. _Astronomically_ inconsiderate. Kokichi wanted to turn around and scream at everyone to fuck off until next week, but…

“ _Fiiiine_ ,” Kokichi sighed dramatically, making a scene out of throwing his hands into the air. “Hey, Momota-chan. What’s the best tea you guys serve out of this dumpster?”

Momota snorted at the word dumpster, then leaned forward on his elbows. He was wearing a short-sleeved shirt _again_ , which was upsetting, because his ugly, stupid muscles really did have a tendency to be distracting. Because Kokichi was threatened by them, actually. That was all. “Are you asking for a recommendation?” he asked.

Kokichi tilted his head back and forth. “Thought that was obvious.”

Momota hesitated for a moment, looking wonderfully considerate framed by the rush of the background, then said, “Well, my favorite’s probably the White Tea Lemonade—“

“Make that, then!” Kokichi interrupted, framing his own smile with his fingers. “I’m curious about what Momota-chan likes, is all!”

Momota huffed a laugh, then smiled across the counter at Kokichi. The flu was ruled out by his vaccination, but Kokichi truly hadn’t talked to the doctors about the state of his heart, which had been doing some _very odd things_ , recently, and almost exclusively in some ugly _Starbucks_ —

“Fine,” Momota said, grabbing the smallest cup off the stacks. “I’ll just make it tall, though, so you don’t have to drink a fuck ton if you end up hating it.”

Kokichi narrowed his eyes while Momota scribbled his name into the plastic. “That’s the tall size?”

“I know,” Momota said, winking at Kokichi. “It’s about as tall as you.”

Fucking hell. Momota 2, Kokichi 0, then. _Why the hell was Momota on such a roll?_ Kokichi wondered. He must’ve recovered from his head cold faster than Kokichi did, or whatever. Or taken some super astronaut supplements before he came into work. Well, if Kokichi worked at a Starbucks, he’d probably be doing the same. Actually, Kokichi would probably throw over his good, pure intentions entirely and just be railing coke off the bar. _Especially_ on a day like today. …That was just him, though.

While Momota made his drink, Kokichi stood off to the side, watching other patrons come and go and grab their coffees from some understaffed, overworked baristas. Glasses girl—Shirogane, he finally spotted on her apron—had a tendency to _blink_ several times at older, male customers, and score a fair amount of tips. Huh. She had been fucking weird as hell, but Kokichi began to feel some begrudging respect for her develop in his chest—even when she looked over at _him_ and winked again. Manipulating old men would be a nice second choice after railing coke as an employee. Or, a third choice. Coke would be his second one, and then…just standing there next to Momota would be his first.

For research purposes, yeah, or…to make sure he really wasn’t getting sick. Or overworked, or stressed. And then they could talk about JAXA, or how he learned to speak Russian, or his favorite movies and colors and travel locations.

Momota was standing at the far end of the counter, holding up his drink, when Kokichi finally blinked himself back into focus. He screwed a smile back into place on his face, then strode over.

“Oi,” Momota greeted, pushing the tea over the counter at Kokichi. “One White Tea Lemonade for a Thief Bastard.”

“Thanks, but,” Kokichi said, then placed a finger against the side of the tea. He pushed it back towards Momota. “That’s for you, JAXA man.”

Momota blinked in confusion while Kokichi pulled money out of his pocket. Ah, Momota 2, Kokichi 1. “Wait, what the hell? Are you serious?” he asked.

“Did Momota-chan seriously think I’d pay money to drink a _tea_ myself? That’s funny!” Kokichi laughed, sliding the cash across the counter to rest next to the drink. “Besides, it’s what all the astronauts drink, isn’t it?”

Momota looked puzzled. “What is?”

“Gravi-tea, Momota-chan! Duh.”

Momota collapsed forward into the counter, his face in his hands, a continuous groan leaving his damn mouth. Momota 2, Kokichi 2. Kokichi couldn’t stop his lips from twisting up into a smile.

“You want to kill me,” Momota said, muffled by his hands. “You actually want to fucking kill me, or some shit. I can’t believe it.”

“Get used to it then, Momo-chan!” Kokichi beamed, throwing his hands up behind his head. “Nishishi, the look on your face just now… Anyways, I’d better—”

Momota lifted his head, then turned to look over his shoulder. “Shirogane!” he called, and Kokichi froze in place. The hell?

“Oh? Momota-chan, I said—“

Shirogane was calling back to Momota. “Yes? What’s…” As Shirogane’s eyes rested on Kokichi, he nearly bristled. Forget every _respect_ thing he’d been thinking before about her—something was _wrong_ with that girl. No normal person could look that conspiratorial. A smile slowly crossed her face, then she said, “That’s fine, Momota-kun.”

“Great,” Momota said under his breath, reaching up to untie his apron. Um, _what?_

“Um, what? Momota-chan!” Kokichi started, a little out of breath, for some reason. What, exactly, was happening? “What’s going on? Y-Your lines in here look pretty—“

“I’m due for break,” Momota said simply, stepping around to Kokichi’s side of the counter. He’d thrown his apron over his shoulder, and he looked…even taller, face to face. With no counter to separate them, Kokichi had to look nearly straight upwards to see Momota’s face, which was calm and relaxed and defined. _And handsome_ , Kokichi’s brain supplied, unhelpfully, then nearly short-fucking-circuited. Momota smiled down at him, and the reason Kokichi had had trouble breathing for a moment became uncomfortably clear. Momota grabbed his tea and started heading towards an empty table.

A few paces in, Momota turned back towards Kokichi, who was still frozen in place at the counter. “You coming?” he asked, lifting the tea to sip it. Kokichi watched his mouth, feeling like he was probably about to melt on the spot and have to be mopped off the floor of the place. Very soon. And then he cleared his throat and shook his head.

“O-Of course!” Kokichi croaked, then cringed. God, he could do _without_ that for a moment. After a few good seconds of violent coughing, Kokichi began to follow. “Ah, just—a bit of a cold, Momota-chan! N-No need to…worry…” he said, taking a seat across from Momota in the corner of the store. The chatter of other customers was flying behind them, but the spot was isolated enough for Kokichi to avert his eyes, instantaneously, at such proximity. Momota stretched his long legs out in front of him, taking another sip of his tea.

“Had a good day?” Momota asked simply, resting the side of his face against his hand. Kokichi kept focus on the hand Momota had wrapped around the White Tea Lemonade and gave a forced smile.

“I-I did, actually!” Kokichi stuttered. “Just this morning, I pushed some goon off his bike when he rode up onto the sidewalk! That was a fantastic highlight of my day, you know. The suffering, and all. How about you? JAXA didn’t try to crack your skull or anything?”

Momota had been listening, nodding, then snorted at Kokichi’s last question. “No, not quite.” He lifted his tea again.

Kokichi peered up at Momota from under his hair, which had managed to fall into his eyes a bit. At the same moment he shifted his eyes, Momota did the same, and Kokichi’s heart jumped in his chest. Yeah, yes, definitely, 100%, really truly fully and absolutely, Kokichi was having an aneurysm—

“Alright, that’s fuckin’ it,” Momota said, his face starting to match the color that Kokichi’s probably already was. He placed a hand behind his head awkwardly, then focused his gaze on Kokichi. “I think I was right, earlier this week, when I said you’re the type of guy to bury your emotions or whatever. Cause…” The corners of his mouth were turning upwards, very, very slowly, in embarrassment, it appeared. “You’ve been flirting with me, haven’t you, you little bastard?”

Kokichi nearly went straight through the fucking ceiling—or, it definitely felt like he did. “What!?” he cried, suddenly mad. His eyes met Momota’s angrily. “You’re dumb as hell, Momo-chan, if that’s what you’ve been thinking! I-I’ve just—been, um— “

“Really? That’s a fucking shame,” Momota cut him off, before he could finish. “Because _I’ve_ been flirting with _you_.”

Oh, Kokichi thought. Oh. Okay.

“I don’t know how you missed the part where I spent 15 minutes mixing you the weirdest, most expensive drink I’ve sold in this dumbass place. Just to talk to you! I thought that would’ve given it away.”

Kokichi was still silent.

Momota let out a nervous laugh. “You alright, man?” he asked, smiling gracelessly at Kokichi.

No, Kokichi was actually not the fuck alright. He hadn’t been flirting with Momota, he’d just been—teasing, and telling jokes, and coming out of his way to make fun of Momota’s stupid, ugly face. And stupid, ugly goatee, and his stupid, ugly arms, and his… eyes, and his hair, and… He’d just been thinking about him, the whole past week, in annoyance at his stupidity, and… And…

Kokichi had been flirting with Momota.

Kokichi felt his face go horribly, awfully red at that admission. It must have done so; he felt like he’d swallowed hot coals, or stuck his head into a fire pit.

“O-Ouma,” Momota laughed, still touching his own neck nervously. “Try and say something, before we—“

“I have a crush on you,” Kokichi let out breathlessly, raising his gaze to meet Momota’s again. The eye contact sent a jolt of something electric-feeling down his spine, and he sat up straighter in his seat, flipping his hair out of the way. “I’ve been coming in here this past week to see you every day.” When Momota didn’t respond immediately, Kokichi continued, “But I am a liar, though! So, you never know, Momota-chan. Perhaps this is all just—“

Momota reached across the table and set his hand on top of Kokichi’s, who stopped speaking immediately. _Okay! Okay, okay. Alright. Okay._

“Shut up,” Momota laughed, his face as red as the setting sun. It complemented his hair quite nicely. Then again, everything would complement his hair quite nicely. Everything would complement his _everything_ quite nicely. Maybe. Probably.

Definitely.

Momota retracted his hand after a moment, then reached up to pull his apron off his shoulder. He managed to fumble his constant, ever-present marker out of the pocket, then picked up his half-finished tea.

Kokichi watched as Momota scribbled several digits onto the plastic of the cup, and then he slid the drink over to sit in front of Kokichi. Kokichi picked it up.

“That’s my phone number,” Momota said, watching for Kokichi’s reaction. “I—“

“Are you sure, actually?” Kokichi cut in, inspecting the numbers intently. “If we’re going on a date, you really want to use our phones to plan-et?”

Momota blinked. “Oh my fucking God,” he said.

Kokichi made a face at him. “What, too awful? My bad; please let me Apollo-gize—“

Momota was smiling, once again, like an idiot. “Don’t make me fuckin’ regret this,” he said, _still_ smiling like an idiot. “You just bought _me_ dinner,” he nodded at the tea in Kokichi’s hand, “so I’ll try and do the same for you.”

Momota was moving to stand from his chair, pulling his apron down to tie around his neck once more. Kokichi watched him, giddy, still feeling like he was on fire and floating at the same time. “You know, Momota-chan, that doesn’t _actually_ sound awful. Good on you!”

Momota snorted, finishing fixing his apron to how it had been before. “Text me,” he shrugged, pushing his chair in. “I’m free tomorrow night.” He glanced back down at the tea in Kokichi’s hand. “And, you might as well finish that. If you give it a try, that’s not _actually_ awful, either.”

Momota left Kokichi with one last smile, then spun around to head back behind the counter for the night; as Kokichi walked out of the building, the shitty bell handle ringing behind him, the light of the Starbucks banner illuminating the snowy street, he took a sip of the drink.

Just as Momota had said, it was, actually, not awful. Kokichi smiled around the straw and made his way back to the bus stop.


End file.
